Tell Me About It
by Radical.2
Summary: "Tell me about it," he says, and I respond, "I know" in a low murmur. He shakes his head, saying, "No, I meant tell me about it. Tell me everything."  Short challenge drabble, Dramione, of course.


**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. No really, she actually does! Isn't that weird?...I guess not.**

**Written for the Romance Den Challenge, by PenOnPaperFingersOnKeys.**

(Hermione's point of view)

I angrily storm out of the common room, slamming the portrait of the Fat Lady behind me.

She says, "Oh my! What's wrong?" but I just keep walking.

Or maybe I am not walking, this seems altogether much too fast. I am not jogging, but every step I take is full of violence and emotion, and if I wasn't going so fast I would've been stomping my feet.

Ron is such a prat, I think to myself. Harry is somewhat of one, but he kind of defeated Voldemort, so...I guess he's only somewhat of one.

I almost can't think straight; everytime I try to concentrate, some measly little thing reminds me of him, and then I remember.

There are no distractions, they don't work on me.

Honestly, considering the fact that he _snogged _me, shouldn't that mean that we are...well, boyfriend and girlfriend.

But no, apparently not. It was just a "farewell" kiss, according to him.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but I still was.

I saw him snogging Lavender today.

It is one month after the battle, the climax, the end, and you would think that all of this wouldn't matter anymore and people would focus on the greater good, not all of _this_.

No such luck.

I have no idea where I am going, though I know every corridor in this place by heart. I have no heart to check, or even try.

As I walk around a corner, I wonder what time it is. Is it past curfew yet?

And I freeze in my tracks when I see him.

I peek my head around the corner, trying not to breathe.

Again, I have no such luck.

He whips his head around, staring at me.

"Malfoy," I nod to him, then turn around and walk away.

I am stupid for even thinking that he would help me. And besides, why would I want his help anyway?

Too late.

I hear his footsteps behind me, and I know that it's him. There's something just so...recognizable about his footsteps.

Rhythmic. Almost catchy, actually.

Of course he catches up to me, and when he does he taps me lightly on the shoulder.

I keep walking. I don't want to talk to anyone. I want to wallow in sadness and anger until I wither away and die.

He taps me again.

After only two times, he has already managed to annoy me almost as much as Ron is.

And that's low, even for a Slytherin.

He doesn't even have time to react the next time he taps me on the shoulder. I am ready, and I spin around and glare at him.

We circle each other like lions about to attack, and to my intense surprise, he asks me, "What's wrong?"

I continue my circular pacing, saying, "Nothing."

How much do you want to bet that he can see through that terrible lie?

I'm not exactly good at lying.

He snorts and says, "You're crying, so doesn't that mean that you're sad, hence something is wrong?"

He smirks, knowing he is right.

"No, I'm just really, really happy," I explain.

I give him a twisted, bleak half-smile.

"Oh," he says, "Then what spectacular thing has happened to you lately?"

I finally crack, whispering, "I saw Ron snogging Lavender."

He is close enough that he can hear. I stand still now, while he paces back and forth in front of me.

He stops pacing and stands just close enough to spark a nerve.

He smirks, saying, "I'd be happy to be rid of the Weasel too. He's kind of a-"

"I'm not happy, you stupid git!" I yell.

"Tell me about it," he sighs.

"I know," I murmur.

He looks up at me and says, "No, I meant tell me about it. I want to hear it."

This is just odd.

"Okay..." I trail off, unsure of where to begin.

He nods encouragingly at me.

I end up telling him everything.

I suppose that this time the books are right.

But since when were they not?

There is nothing more apperciated than the enthusiastic listener.


End file.
